


i wish you were here with me

by disequilibrium



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:37:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disequilibrium/pseuds/disequilibrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's starting to think some things don't just fade with time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wish you were here with me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshinexbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinexbomb/gifts).



> Hi!! First of all, I haven't written Niam in years. But I fell in love with this prompt so I hope I wrote them well! I honestly loved this prompt so much. I wish I'd had so much more time to write it, because everything that happened before and during and after this fic that I didn't get to include is so very clear in my head. Maybe I'll revisit it one day. For now, though, I hope you enjoy it reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

“Payno. _Payno_. Liam!”

Liam snaps his head up when he realizes Louis has been talking to him. Or, trying to. The other man’s mouth is pressed into the firm it does when he’s annoyed, and his nose is just the slightest bit scrunched. His eyes are piercing into Liam’s soul. It’s chilling, even though Liam knows it’s mostly just for show. Louis has always been like that, all bark, only bite if you really deserve it. Liam’s not done much to deserve it, except maybe flicking spit balls in his hair. But to be fair, Louis made him shatter that cup of tea that one time, so really…

“I’ve been talking to you! We’ve got a deadline here, you know. Hits to produce. Number one albums to crank out…?” Louis speaks slowly, as if Liam’s a small child who doesn’t quite understand the business of music. Liam sits up straighter, back aching with the way he’s been hunched over his notebook.

“I know, I know, sorry.”

It’s best not to argue with Louis, when he gets like this. Just give in and get to work. It was one of the first things Liam learned, when he started out: always let Louis win in the end. _It’s just better that way_ , Zayn had said. And Zayn was always right, thank god. Liam would have been lost without his sage advice. He wonders where he is, now; figures he’s probably off touring the far reaches of the world.

Louis sighs, giving Liam a slow once-over. Liam can imagine what he must see – the pull of his lips into the slightest of frowns, the bags under his eyes, the fact that his shirt’s rumpled like he just grabbed it off the bedroom floor and threw it on as he stepped out the door. Which, he did. Or maybe Louis doesn’t see that at all. Maybe Louis sees Liam Payne, overnight sensation, on the verge of creating the next Best Album Known to Man. Featuring his own name on over half the writing credits, this time.

“What is it, then?” Louis asks. He’s got that bored tone, the one that sneaks in when he’s trying to pretend like he doesn’t care. Like it’s all the same, to him. But he does care; probably too much, Liam’s learned. Even now, there’s a hint of concern in the clench of his jaw, that little muscle that twitches at the corner when he’s trying to solve a problem. Liam licks his lips, frowns harder at his notebook before offering it up.

“It’s the second verse. I can’t make it fit. It’s been keeping me up at night.”

Louis plucks the book from Liam’s fingertips, flips it around so he can read it. Liam folds his hands in his lap, leans back in his chair. Watches as Louis scans the page.

“You really want this one on the album, huh?” he asks, at length. Once the silence with its electric, studio buzz has stretched on long enough that Liam starts to fidget. He nods immediately, voices it a moment later.

“Yes. It has to be.”

This isn’t the first time Louis’ looked at the song and thought it might be better left scrapped. It doesn’t fit with the rest of the album, he says. It’s too… sad, but not ballad-y enough. Slow, but not quite a love song. It just doesn’t seem to have a place, it’s not a song you can stick a label on and sell to millions of girls. Liam counters by explaining that that’s the point. This song is special, it’s supposed to be different. It’s supposed to be more than his brand, than the pop industry, more than what people expect. It doesn’t need a label. It’s not for a million girls.

It’s not even for one girl.

 Louis just raises an eyebrow once he’s reaffirmed Liam’s conviction, reaches for a pen, scribbles something on the page. Reads it over again, and nods to himself. Hands it back to Liam.

Liam looks at what he’s written. He sings the verse through in his head. He feels a chill run down his spine.

“That’s it,” he breathes.

“Of course it is,” Louis tells him. He leans back in his chair, folds his arms behind his head. “You know I’m good.”

Liam does know that. He also knows Louis’ got a smug look on his face, always does when he’s somehow turned every one of Liam’s muddled thoughts into a perfect, concise line of song. He doesn’t look up to see it, though. He’s too busy reading over Louis’ messily scrawled addition, squeezed in the margin around all of the things Liam’s tried and crossed out and tried again. It feels significant, somehow. That line. The thing he’s been trying to say since he first jotted the idea down, however many months ago:

 _I want to rip it all to shreds and start again_.

-

It’s raining. It’s always raining, though, isn’t it? This time of year, anyway. Niall could complain to Harry, he supposes. Could lean over and prod him with the end of his pen and grumble about the rain, and get cruel satisfaction from Harry’s wounded expression at the unexpected jab. Tune him out when he tries to explain that rain is conducive to studying and they should be thankful, given the insurmountable pressure they’re under. He could also kick Harry, he decides. Just lightly. Under the table. Enough to get his attention. He’s not sure which would be better; a pen prod would probably hurt, just a little bit more. Maybe it would help him let out his frustration at the English paper he left too long to start.

“I can’t concentrate when you’re watching me,” Harry thwarts all of Niall’s plans by speaking first, slow and smooth and calculated. He doesn’t even look up from the pages of his Economics textbook.

“I know you’re not reading that,” Niall insists, slumping back in his seat. He begins to tap his pen against the table. Harry reaches to stop it almost immediately.

“I was _so_ ,” Harry insists, finally meeting Niall’s impatient gaze. His lips twitch, though. Niall raises his eyebrows.

“Tell me one thing about Economic theory, then, or whatever you’re studying.”

Harry clears his throat, sitting up straighter. He’s still holding onto Niall’s pen. Niall tries to tug it from his grip, but Harry just clenches his fist tighter, because he’s a twat like that.

“Keynesian Economics is the theory that in short time periods – _especially_ during recessions – economic… output? Input?”

He stops, frowning down at the textbook again. His grip on the pen loosens, so Niall snatches it away.

“See? Nothing’s going in. It’s time for a break.”

He leans to tap the pen against Harry’s scalp.

“Hey – _Niall_ ,” Harry whines, rubbing the spot. He flips a couple pages back, then forward, shoulders eventually sinking in defeat.

“I hate this class,” he groans. Niall’s already started packing his things up, thinking about how a coffee would be nice. Maybe a cookie, if they’ve got the ginger molasses ones today.

“Good,” Niall replies supportively, zipping up his bag. He reaches over, once he’s done, and slowly pushes Harry’s textbook closed. Harry only resists a little. He looks wrecked, all pale and puffy-eyed from too much studying and too little sleep. Niall knows for a fact that he was up way too late working on some Sociology assignment. He could certainly use a pick me up, and soon. It’s practically Niall’s duty, to take care of him; Harry’s mum implied it.

“Put this in your bag,” Niall hands him the textbook, “and pack up your notes. I’ll buy you a nice matcha latte with soy milk, how’s that sound?”

“I think I want almond milk this time,” Harry mumbles, finally scooting his chair back and pulling himself to his feet. He tucks his notes into his bag, in a redundantly careful way because they’re loose-leaf pages that are inevitably going to get crumpled, “apparently soybeans are responsible for deforestation of tropical rainforests… they’re like, one of the worst things, besides cattle farming.”

Niall nods. Doesn’t groan, because Harry actually really cares about this shit and, as his best friend, Niall has to at least be sensitive to things like that.

“Almond milk, then.”

He watches as Harry pulls the zipper of his bag closed, shaking his head fondly. Two years, they’ve been roommates, and Niall honestly wouldn’t trade him for the world. Even if he considered it, that time Harry tried forcing him to do the master cleanse. But that’s all in the past, now, especially considering they both ate their weight in Chinese takeout the very next day.

 

The coffee shop is warm and bustling when they get there. Harry goes off to snag a table while Niall grabs their drinks, chatting briefly with the pretty barista. When he shuffles off with his steaming cups and his cookie, he finds Harry with his arms folded on the table, head rested on top of them, two seconds from sleep.

“You really need to have a nap,” he tells him, sliding his latte over and breaking off a piece of his cookie. Harry all but drags himself into an upright position, curling his hands around the drink.

“I need to fake an illness so I can get out of writing this exam,” Harry sighs. He sips his drink. It leaves a little green mustache line on his lip, but Niall doesn’t bother to tell him.

“Tried that once,” he explains instead, “turns out it costs more to bribe a doctor than it does to retake the course, so.”

He pops the cookie in his mouth. It’s sweet and chewy and everything a ginger molasses cookie should be. Harry gives him a deadpan look.

“You did not.”

Niall shrugs, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip. He gives Harry a challenging look over the rim, until Harry rolls his eyes and looks away, glancing out the window. At the rain. Niall follows his gaze and sighs quietly.

“Does it ever stop?” he asks. It’s still pattering against the window, but he can only hear it if he really tries, beneath the ambient sounds of the coffee shop. Harry only hums in reply, licking his lips. The green mustache is reduced to a smudge at the corner of his mouth. Niall smiles a little, and takes another bite of his cookie.

It’s Harry, who notices first. Because he furrows his brow and tilts his head, and then Niall’s listening before he realizes he’s doing it. And he hears the philosophy students at the other table arguing about reality versus theatre, and the clattering of dishes in the back of the shop. And he hears the clicking of keyboards and the milk steamer going. And then, underneath all of that, he hears the music. And once he starts listening to it, it becomes the only thing, and he’s focusing in on it around all of the other voices because he’d recognize this one anywhere. Floating over the speakers, over the din of conversation, straight into his eardrums. Where it settles and stagnates and clings. His throat feels dry when he swallows his cookie down, and there’s a little pain in his stomach, a pressure on his chest. It never stops being a shock, honestly. He can say he’s over it and he can steel himself up and listen and laugh along, but when it happens like this, out of nowhere, on an otherwise ordinary day… well.

“What?” Harry asks, brow furrowed in confusion now. Then, because he already mostly knows, adds, “it’s him? I wasn’t sure.”

Niall sets his coffee down, presses his lips together and nods. He can’t look straight at Harry, decides to focus on his drink instead – the way the steam rises off the surface and winds into the air.

“Ohh.”

Niall doesn’t need to look at Harry to know that he’s gone all soft and concerned. He can feel his cheeks starting to go red, with the shame and the embarrassment and whatever else is churning in his stomach, ruining his appetite. With anyone else, he could brush it off and pretend to be over it. But Harry knows too much; knows about the time Niall listened to the first album and ended up crying his eyes out, and knows when Niall’s trying to act tough to save face. Niall sighs, sets his cookie down.

“I was really looking forward to eating that,” he moans petulantly. It’s all a bit melodramatic, but Harry scoots his chair around anyway, reaches to rub his back. It doesn’t help much, but it’s a welcome gesture.

“You can save it for later,” Harry tells him softly. As if that will solve all his other problems. Niall lets out a slow breath, closes his eyes and waits for the song to drift back behind the dishes and the chatter. He leans into his friend, finding momentary solace in the solid warmth of the other boy, eventually relaxes with a little laugh.

“All this stress is getting to me,” he decides. Harry smiles, slings his arm over his shoulders.

“You made the right choice,” he says, all firm and reassuring. Niall nods, shoves the feeling of doubt deep away inside of himself. Harry knows some of the story, but he doesn’t know all of it. Doesn’t know Niall did what he did mostly because he was too scared to open himself up to the inevitable pain of having to fight for something that used to come easy. Niall can’t even admit that to himself, most of the time. Even now, he pushes the thought away, replaces it with his usual mantra.

“I know,” he says. It wouldn’t have worked, if they had tried. They’d gone down different paths. Niall would have never understood Liam’s world, and Liam would have never understood Niall’s, and eventually, somehow, the distance would have ruined them. It was better, to break it off when they had. To save them both the misery, to let them each focus on their own lives.

But Niall still misses him, and what could have been. He misses when they were both just kids with dreams, making up songs on a beat up old guitar. He misses believing that good things, right things, could last forever.

 

It’s later that night, when Harry’s off in the shower and can’t stop him, that Niall listens to the song. It’s been nagging at him all day, the fragments he heard of it in the coffee shop, his mind straining to string the lyrics together. He wants to know; he _has_ to know. He puts on his headphones and goes to Spotify, chews at the hang nail on his thumb, types Liam’s name into the search bar before he can lose his nerve. It comes up as the first option – _Something Great_. He hits play and lets out all his pent-up breath in a whoosh of air, closes his eyes and tries to brace himself.

Niall knew Liam for years. They grew up together, went to school together, got into music together. Fell in love together. Niall knows exactly what the song’s about, who it’s for, before the first line’s even finished. And after that he can’t stop listening. He hasn’t spoke to Liam in a long time; it hurt too much. The last time they really talked was Niall’s birthday, and then it was just a quick text – _Happy birthday! How are you? Have a good semester!._ Clipped and quick because nothing feels right through words on a screen, and they were both too chicken to call.

By the end of the first chorus, there are tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t know if Liam wrote it for him to hear, or if he just wrote as a form of catharsis. Or if he had to tell somebody, somehow, everything he couldn’t tell Niall. He doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He glances at his phone as the song winds to a slow, soft end. He feels drained, like somebody just wrung out his heart and all of the feelings, all the hurt and regret, have now soaked through his lungs and into his skin and his stomach and up through his throat. He doesn’t know where Liam is, in the world. He doesn’t know when Harry will be back to scold him if it all goes horribly wrong. But he grabs the phone, unlocks it and scrolls to Liam’s number.

He has to. He just has to _know_. It might not even be his number any more, he tells himself. It could connect to some old lady out in the country. It could connect to nowhere. He could be fast asleep in… Tokyo, or something.

He hits the call button and puts the phone to his ear.

-

“I told you! I _told_ you!” Liam’s shouting, well aware of it, but he doesn’t care. He’s gripping Louis’ shoulders, half jumping on him as they look at the charts for the week. Louis reaches back to try and shove him off, but he’s grinning wide, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I told you we had to put it in! You _knew_ , you knew when you heard it, didn’t you! You knew I was right!”

He claps his hands together, puts his fingertips to his lips and looking up at the ceiling, giving thanks to the higher powers that be.

“I knew it.”

He feels Louis clap his hand down on his shoulder, thumb digging into the skin as he gives it a congratulatory squeeze.

“What can I say? All that pigheadedness finally paid off,” he chuckles. Liam can barely keep the smile off his face. He digs his phone out of his pocket, scrolls through his twitter feed before shoving it in Louis’ face.

“All week. All week! They love it.”

He can’t keep the pride out of his voice. It blossoms up through his chest. He’s afraid he might burst. Louis gives the screen a cursory glance, but even he looks excited, delighted. He leans to grab the room service menu, flipping it open to the drinks page.

“If the whole of Birmingham didn’t know you’d touched down, I’d say let’s go out and celebrate. But a couple £7 cocktails and some snacks won’t hurt anyone. Get Preston to grab the band.”

 

It’s later in the evening when Liam’s phone starts vibrating in his pocket. He’s pleasantly buzzed, though he cut himself off after a sickly sweet piña colada and a couple beer. Following that incident in Texas, he’s made a conscious effort not to get too hammered. He excuses himself quickly, stepping to the bedroom where the sounds of the boys shouting over their FIFA game won’t be too disruptive.

The name on the screen when he glances at his cell is enough to shock him completely sober.

He fumbles with the phone, almost drops it, almost accidentally hangs up, but manages to answer on the final ring.

“Hello? Hey? Sorry. You still there?” he asks in a rush, his heart pounding in his ears. He can’t think why Niall would be calling, now. After all those months where he barely heard from him at all. He suddenly needs to hear his voice more than anything, though. Didn’t know he how much he aches for it until it’s right there, coming down the line, a bit tinny and fuzzy but distinctly Niall.

“Oh, I… didn’t really expect you to answer.”

He hears him let out a quiet laugh, a breathy laugh, the kind he does when he’s nervous but trying not to show it. Liam sits himself down on the bed, tucks the phone close to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m here. Um. It’s me.” He laughs, too, runs a hand through his hair. As if Niall might be able to see him. There’s a brief pause, an awkward silence. Liam’s just starting to freak out about finding a way to fill it when Niall speaks up again.

“Where are you, anyway? Thought you might be on the other side of the world, or something. Tokyo. I dunno why I thought Tokyo.”

Liam smiles a little. Breathing starts to come easier. Niall’s always been easy like that, he remembers. No matter what. Easy to talk to.

“I’m in Birmingham, actually. Got a show tomorrow night, just finishing up tour number two.”

He feels silly, saying that. Like the Liam that’s going to give the show and the Liam that’s talking to Niall are two different people. Like he’s still seventeen years old pretending to be a pop sensation instead of...  twenty years old and actually a pop sensation. Niall hums softly, and Liam wonders where he is. What he’s doing? Why he’s calling.

“Should’ve figured,” he muses, and then asks, “have you been to Tokyo?”

Liam picks at a thread on his jeans, licks his lips when they start to feel dry.

“Yeah, start of this year actually. It was sick.”

He wishes he could say more, but it feels like his brain’s gone numb.  The tour, the new single, it all seems so distant now. All he can think about is Niall. Sitting there in bed, maybe, his sheets pooled around him. Or on a couch with his feet up watching something muted on the telly. He’s probably alone, probably wouldn’t call like this out of the blue if he wasn’t.

“You gonna be home for Christmas?” Niall asks, softer now, interrupting Liam’s thoughts. The ache in Liam’s chest grows at his tone, at the mention of home. But he smiles, in spite of it.  

“Yeah, reckon so,” he replies. He doesn’t add that he’s already looking forward to it. The fire crackling, the lights on the tree. Opening his presents. Stealing Ruth’s chocolates. He can’t think about it too much, otherwise he gets homesick. “Last show’s in about… two weeks, actually, then there’s some promo stuff. New album and that. And then I’m off for the holidays.”

He can almost hear Niall smiling when he answers.

 “That’s good.”

Liam allows himself a small grin, runs his hand absently over the hotel duvet.

“What about you? What’re you… what’ve you been doing?” he asks. He’s suddenly eager to know, to ask him how school’s going, what kind of friends he’s made, whether the program he’s in is everything he thought it would be. Niall laughs again, quietly again, but this time it’s more comfortable. More fond.

“Oh, just been gearing up for exams and that. Writing papers. School gets mad around this time.”

Liam wouldn’t know anything about it, and he senses they’re both starkly aware of that fact. It makes him feel inadequate, somehow; small. Like he’s missed out on something.

“Can’t imagine doing that,” he admits, because he knows he doesn’t have to try and pretend with Niall. At least they’ve both always understood that. Niall chuckles.

“Nah, wouldn’t imagine so. It’s alright, though. Been interesting, been learning a lot.”

Liam nods a little, forgets Niall can’t see. It suddenly strikes them how close they are, how he could be in London in a couple hours if he wanted to. He wishes it were as easy as that; as just showing up. Walking through the door. Taking him into his arms again. Wishes they could pick up where they left off, before everything got mad – before he was selling out stadiums and Niall was left to follow other dreams. He knows that isn’t the way Niall works, though. He’s never been one lay it all on the line. He has to take his time, think things through, figure out the best solution. Liam was like that, too, at one point. Before it became necessary to live life on a whim. He hears a rustle through the phone, pictures Niall shifting around to get comfy in his blankets, just like he’s always done.

“I heard the song,” Niall says, breaking through Liam’s thoughts. It takes a moment for his words to register, but by the time he adds, “Something Great” it’s already clicked in Liam’s head. He lets out a slow breath, rubs the back of his neck. Tries to settle the nerves that rise up into his throat again.

Of course Niall heard the song. In a way, he was always meant to hear the song. Liam just didn’t think it would be so soon, or something. Liam didn’t really think about how it might happen at all.

“I figured you would eventually,” he mumbles.

 

Neither of them say anything, for a while. Liam can hear Niall’s soft breaths through the phone. It gives him a sort of comfort, to know he’s still there. To know he’s not angry. Not that he ever worried he might be; Niall’s always understood him best, after all.

“I miss you, too,” Niall whispers finally. And that’s the moment where Liam feels his heart crack, the lump rise in his throat. Niall’s words make it real. They make the song real. All those lyrics he poured over for so long, trying to say that one simple thing. “God, I miss you,” Niall adds, and Liam can hear the way his voice catches, hears a small sniffle a moment later. It makes him want to run to Niall, cancel everything else, pick up all the pieces of what they had and try to put them back together.

“Please don’t cry,” he pleads softly, because he knows he’ll start soon if Niall doesn’t stop. He hears Niall choke out a laugh, imagines him wiping at his red-rimmed eyes.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles, “I just… I thought it’d be alright, you know? After a while? But sometimes I just… I want to see you, talk to you, but I know if I do that I’ll just want more. And I don’t think we can have more, Liam. I don’t know if we could handle more. But I miss you and it’s shit.”

Liam’s shoulders sink, and he curls in on himself.

“Yeah, it’s pretty shit,” he agrees. They’re quiet for another moment.

“I meant every word of it,” he adds, “the song.” And then, “I still mean every word, honestly. I know you – we said we’d probably just grow apart, anyway, but I wrote that song months ago and it’s still true and it’s been true since the day you left. Or I left. Since – you know.”

Niall lets out a quiet breath.

“I know.”

There’s another, brief stretch of silence, before a thought comes to Liam’s mind.

“You know that ABBA song? Super Trouper?” he asks.

“…yeah?” Liam swears he heard Niall let out a snort of amusement, but his voice still sounds watery. And honestly Liam’s really not sure what he’s saying any more. The words are all tumbling out before he can even stop them.

“And it goes like, _I won’t feel so blue, like I always do, ‘cause somewhere in the crowd there’s you_?”

Niall’s definitely laughing, now, down the line. It sounds less sad.

“Honestly, all the songs in the world and you choose ABBA to explain your feelings?” Niall replies. Liam frowns to himself.

“Well I mean, using my own would’ve been a bit conceited…”

Niall snorts, and then laughs again. Liam would probably try to be offended, if he wasn’t trying so hard to soak in the sound of it.

“Are you trying to ask me to come to one of your shows?”

Liam squints his eyes a little, furrowing his brow at the wall. After a moment of careful contemplation, he nods again.

“Yeah… yeah, I guess so. I’d really like that, Niall,” he replies, and for the first time he feels a glimmer of hope. He can almost hear Niall thinking, off in London, the little gears in his head turning. Considering. Weighing the options.

“Can I bring a friend?” he asks finally. Liam can hardly believe it.

“Yeah! Of course. Let me just… I’ll get you some tickets, I’ve got two shows here, is Friday too short notice? Otherwise it’s Sheffield, that’s next, on the first…”

“Um, it’d probably be easier to do the first, travel time and that,” Niall sounds a bit thrown by Liam’s sudden energy, but Liam can’t be bothered to try and tone it down. It’s the thought of Niall coming to one of his shows, standing there in the crowd, getting to see Liam do what he loves. Getting to see what it’s all become for him. It hardly seems fair that Niall’s never been to a show when he’s the one who pushed Liam to take the chance at all, when he’s the one who helped him write the song that started everything.

“Okay, perfect,” he looks around, grabs a notepad and scribbles _Sheffield Nov 1_ on it. As if he’d forget. “I’ll text you the details, tomorrow probably. This is so – I’m so happy you want to come, Niall. We can catch up after, too, if you want? Your friend’s more than welcome.”

Niall’s quiet for a moment, while Liam sits anxiously at the edge of the bed, wishing it were next Sunday already. He crosses his fingers, prays to every god there is that Niall’s not about to change his mind.

“Alright,” he finally answers and then, more hesitantly, “I’ll uh, talk to you tomorrow then. And I’ll see you there.”

Liam indulges himself in a little fist pump, mouthing ‘thank you’ toward the sky. He does his best to sound casual, though, when he speaks.

“Alright. See you, mate.”

He waits until he hears Niall’s quiet “bye”, until he hears the line go dead before he hangs his own phone up. He stares at the notepad in his lap for a moment, still unable to believe what’s just happened. But it’s written right there. And when he wakes up in the morning, it’ll still be written right there, because this isn’t a dream. It’s real.

Niall was, arguably, the love of his life. The one that got away. His deepest regret. And he’s going to see him again.

-

“So… I’m still confused.”

Niall barely glances back, hand firmly clasped on Harry’s arm as he drags him along the crowded platform. People are bustling toward the train, jostling them from either side. Niall tugs Harry along with the crowd, and Harry just follows easily, apologizing profusely when he trips into an elderly woman. It isn’t until they’ve gotten on and found a seat that he speaks again, dropping his bag unceremoniously onto the floor and sprawling out, long legs taking up all of the space Niall was planning to use for his own. He toes at Harry’s calves until he moves his feet over, and then gets comfy, glancing out the window to where the platform is slowly emptying.

“So like,” Harry continues, folding his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, “last week you couldn’t even eat a cookie ‘cause you heard Liam’s song, and now we’re going to his show?”

Niall groans, sliding a hand over his face.

“First of all, I ate the cookie. Eventually. And it’s not like it’s a big thing, Harry. I never got to see him perform for a crowd, and he wanted me to come, so I wasn’t going to be rude. We’re just gonna go, say hi, spend the night in whatever fancy hotel he’s put us up in, and leave.”

Harry nods slowly.

“He seems awful keen to see you, though. He’s paying for everything.”

Niall really wishes Harry would be less observant, sometimes. Or less nosy.

“He paid for everything for you, too!” he tries. Harry frowns a little.

“’Cause he probably knew you wouldn’tve come alone. I don’t even know him, he doesn’t want to see me.”

Niall sighs, quietly. He knows he can’t win this one, and should really stop defending himself, but he’s not willing to admit the truth yet. He’s still too busy denying it, hoping that if he tells himself he’s over Liam enough, he’ll start to feel it.

“Of course he wants to see you,” he settles for trying to distract Harry with flattery instead, “who wouldn’t? I told him how, ehm… fun you are.” He gestures vaguely to Harry, who’s just staring at him now. He looks a bit offended. Niall’s never been good at complimenting him, anyway, even when he genuinely tries.

“Don’t be too convincing, now!” Harry exclaims, folding his arms over his chest and slumping back in his seat with a huff. Niall rests his elbow on the ledge of the window, tucking his hand behind his ear so he can lean his head on it. He can’t help the little smile that breaks past the nerves building in his chest.

“Aw, Harry. You know I love you.”

He kicks at his calf again, for good measure. Harry nudges his leg back.

“Don’t lie, I know you only keep me around for my charm and my good looks.”

Niall snorts, looking back out the window as the train rumbles to life and pulls out of the station.

“That too,” he agrees.

 

A man from Liam’s bodyguard team meets them in Sheffield. He’s broad and sturdy, a hair taller than Harry. With his sunglasses and his stern expression, Niall expects him to be no-nonsense, all business, but once he confirms that they are who they say they are he gives them a warm smile and shakes both of their hands.

“Pleasure to meet you boys. The car’s off this way; Liam wanted to come, but we decided it would be too risky.”

“Of course,” Harry mutters to Niall, who elbows him for his trouble. They follow the man, who introduces himself as Basil, out to a sleek, black car and climb into the back while he puts their bags - both worn backpacks filled with the bare essentials – into the trunk. Niall feels strange, out of place with the spotless cream upholstery and tinted windows. This must be a glimpse of what Liam’s life is like now, he thinks. He wonders whether Liam’s gotten used to it. Whether it’s all routine for him. He glances at the reflection of Basil’s face in the rear view mirror when he climbs into the driver’s seat, with his sunglasses on, mouth pulled into a business-like grimace. It isn’t until they pull away from the airport that he seems to relax, as if a bunch of fans were going to materialize and somehow realize Harry and Niall are connected to Liam and decide flip the car over, or something.

 The closer they get to their destination, the more he starts to think about this strange new world and the more he starts to fear that Liam’s changed, that he won’t be anything like the person Niall used to know. He’s not sure what they could possibly have in common, now. What they could possibly talk about. He starts to think this might be a huge mistake, might just make everything worse. All this time, he’d been living his life under the assumption that _his_ Liam was still out there, doing what he loves. That his Liam is happy and well. He never entertained the idea that his Liam might be gone, swallowed up in the perks and pressures of fame, molded into somebody new and different. He feels like that would only break his heart more. To know that all of his memories would always be just that, memories. To know that he would never see his Liam again.

It isn’t until Harry reaches over to tug at his arm that Niall realizes he’s been biting at his nails. He gives his friend a sheepish look, drops his hand to his lap. Harry replies with a soft smile, gives his wrist a little squeeze before letting go, and some of the butterflies in Niall’s stomach settle. He’s so glad he thought to bring Harry; probably would have puked or something by now if he hadn’t.

Eventually, they start up a conversation with Basil. They spend the rest of the ride chatting to him, about his family mostly. By the time they arrive at the arena Niall almost feels ready.

There are backstage passes waiting for them both. Basil leads them through a brightly-lit cement corridor as then put them around their necks, trying their best to act like they belong. All around them seems to be a bustle of activity, important-looking crew members talking into headsets, brushing quickly past on their way to take care of some last-minute detail. The walk feels long and ominous. Niall almost wants to hold onto Harry’s arm, feel the soft fabric of his sweater and know that at least one person’s on his side. He settles for shuffling closer, instead, until their arms brush. Harry glances at Niall, shakes his head in awe.

“Never been back stage before,” he murmurs, and Niall nods.

“It’s crazy.”

Their voices echo, and then disappear.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, they reach a door with a piece of white paper taped to it. ‘LIAM’ is typed in plain, black font, and beneath it, ‘DRESSING ROOM 1’.

Basil’s knocking on the door before Niall can take a second to breathe, and it swings open almost immediately. He’s expecting to see Liam. Feels like a carpet’s been ripped out from underneath him when it’s somebody else, but also sort of relieved. He takes a deep, calming breath, offers a smile in response to the curious grey eyes of the other man.

“Liam’s guests, Niall and Harry,” Basil introduces them. Then, turning to Niall and Harry, gestures to the man.

“And this is Louis. Liam’s manager, among other things.”

Louis snorts, steps back and pulls the door open.

“Sounds sketch when you say it like that, Bas,” he tells him dryly. Basil looks unphased.

“I’ll see that their things get to the hotel. Have a good show, boys!”

He gives him a wave, and then he’s gone. Niall turns to look at Louis, finds him staring back unabashedly. There’s a pause, in which Harry eventually clears his throat, and then Louis smiles and motions for them to enter.

“Come in. Liam’s just in the loo.”

Niall nods, trails after Harry.

“Wow,” the other boy breathes, looking around the room. It’s been draped in some sort of black cloth, and there’s a couch and table full of snacks. A soccer ball sits in the middle of the floor, and Niall can just picture Liam taking it out and kicking it around while he waits for the show to start. There’s a guitar, too, stood in the corner, and a backpack tossed against the wall. Beside it is an iPod dock, but nothing’s playing right now. Niall wonders if Liam’s still obsessed with Justin Timberlake, if he still has every single N’Sync song, if he still belts out Michael Buble in the shower. By the far wall is a hanger with some clothes. Aside from that, it’s relatively empty.

“Good trip?” Louis asks, closing the door and wandering in. He throws himself onto the couch like he owns it. Niall notices, now, that he looks almost too young to be a manager. He’s got a small build, and delicate features, but there’s something about his eyes that suggests you wouldn’t want to cross him. He’s got on black slacks and a red t-shirt, no shoes, mismatched socks. Niall isn’t sure why, but he likes him immediately.

“Yeah,” Harry’s already replying, already casually snooping through the goodies on the table, “I’m from Holmes Chapel, so I’ve seen a lot of the countryside before… Niall hasn’t, though.”

Niall watches Harry for a moment. Considers telling him to be more polite and not rummage in people’s food, then decides against it and goes to take a seat on the couch instead. For something to do.

“No?” Louis asks. He’s still watching Niall. Niall lifts his shoulder in a shrug.

“Nah, haven’t had a chance before. Or a reason. It was nice. Didn’t really live up to my expectations after the way he talked about it, though, if I’m honest.”

He nods toward Harry, who immediately turns to frown at him.

“Everything I told you was true! If we’d taken the _earlier_ train…”

“If we’d taken the earlier train, we would’ve had to get up at seven in the morning and you wouldn’t have gotten that nice omelette I made for you.”

Harry’s frown deepens. He grabs an orange and comes to sit next to Niall, setting about peeling it.

“Alright,” he gives in. Niall’s too anxious to be smug about it.

Louis laughs, pulling himself up and stepping over to what Niall assumes must be the bathroom door – he’s been watching it out the corner of this eye the whole time, waiting.

“I agree, it’s boring as hell after the first hour. No point sugar coating it.”

Harry just scowls at his orange, though his eyes flicker to Louis when he’s not looking, narrowed in a dark glare. Niall chuckles, curls his fingers into his palms to keep from chewing at them.

Louis reaches the door and raps on it with his knuckles as the smell of Harry’s orange fills the room.

“Oy, Liam! Quit fixing your hair, Niall’s here already.”

This is followed by the distinct sound of something crashing to the floor, and what might be a string of muffled swears. Louis looks immediately amused, trying the door handle. It’s locked.

“You okay in there?”

“Yup!” comes the quick reply. And it’s Liam. It really is. Niall’s heart jumps into his throat. He does his best to swallow it back down.

Louis chuckles. When his eye catches Niall’s, Niall can’t help but grin.

“I’m starting to think nothing’s changed,” he tells him, a question disguised as a joke, and Louis shakes his head.

“You’ll be surprised by how little really has,” he replies. The tightness in Niall’s chest eases. It’s the confirmation he needed. He wants to ask Louis more – how long he’s known Liam, what exactly “manager, among other things” entails, what countries they’ve gone to, whether Liam’s happy. Whether he has friends. Whether anybody’s there to genuinely care about him and listen to him and reassure him when he’s feeling down on himself. All the things Niall tries not to think about, but can’t ignore, now that he’s sitting here in Liam’s dressing room.

He doesn’t get a chance to start grilling Louis, though, because the bathroom door suddenly opens and there’s Liam. Niall’s seen pictures of him, the occasional candid snapped by a pap; he’s watched the music videos. He never realized how much he’d actually grown, though. He’s taller, now, and his hair’s shorter, and his shoulders broad. He looks around the room quickly, and his eyes immediately settle on Niall.

“Shit,” the word slips out of Niall’s mouth before he can stop it, and then he’s on his feet, hurrying to hug the doe-eyed boy. Liam lets out a rough laugh, steps to meet him with his arms open wide.

 

-

 

Liam, somehow, forgot the way Niall felt in his arms: slight but strong, sturdy, firm. He’s grown into his body, and he’s let his hair go dark at the roots. He smells incredibly good, the faintest hint of something cinnamony and sharp, mint shampoo, laundry fresh out of the dryer. And he’s warm. And they fit together snugly, and Liam doesn’t feel like anything’s missing any more.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles into the softness of Niall’s hair. He wants to take his face in his hands and look him over, see what’s changed, what little things he’s missed or lost through his absence. But he’s all too aware of Louis, and Niall’s friend, so he lets him go after only a moment and steps back. Niall laughs, warm and familiar.

“Good to see you, mate!”

The grin stays firm on his face as he turns to gesture to his friend. The boy carefully arranges his long limbs and stands. His features might be considered odd, if they weren’t somehow strikingly beautiful, and when he smiles twin dimples press into his cheeks.

“Hi,” he greets Liam.

“This is Harry,” Niall introduces him, “friend from uni.”

Harry offers a hand, and Liam takes it, surprised by how light his grip is. Liam can’t help but be intrigued him, the way he seems to not only fit into the space of the dressing room but command it, effortlessly.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Liam,” he gives Harry a nod, and the corners of Harry’s mouth twitch.

“I know,” he nods, reaching to comb back a wayward lock of dark, chestnut hair with his fingers, “you’ve good music, mate, we’re looking forward to the show.”

Liam grins.

“Yeah? That’s great! It’s gonna be a good one, the crowds have been brilliant so far.”

He glances back at Niall, catches him watching him. Niall offers him a soft smile, when their eyes meet, and Liam feels his heart lurch in his chest, all rational thought chased from his mind for how easily Niall still has him.

Louis saves him, though, clearing his throat and hopping off the arm of the couch where he only just set himself down.

“I know I’ve already met them, but come on, Liam.  Give us a proper introduction.”

He slings an arm over Liam’s shoulders, and Liam tries to relax, letting out a laugh.

“Right, of course. Niall, Harry, this is Louis. He does… what do you do?”

He looks at Louis with feigned confusion, and Louis firms his lips together, flaring his nostrils. A second later, his deft fingers give Liam’s ear a good yank, and Liam squawks in pain, ducking away from him.

“Ow!”

“Deserved it!” Louis chastises him, but there’s no venom to his words.

Liam rubs at his ear, straightening back up.

“Alright, alright. He does everything, how’s that?”

He raises his eyebrows at the daggers Louis’ shooting at him. Louis considers for a moment, then gives a nod. Niall’s laughing, deep and throaty, and even Harry looks tentatively amused. Louis grins, pleased to have an audience. It’s still a bit awkward, around the elephant in the room, but something’s eased.

 

“Really, though, what are you involved with?” Niall asks, once they’ve all settled down. He looks over at Louis. “Basil said you’re Liam’s manager.”

Louis looks proud. Puffs up his chest.

“I am! And I help him write songs, and I keep him company on the road, and I make sure he stays in line and doesn’t do crap interviews. It’s a big job, you know.”

Niall grins, shifting over so Harry can take his place beside him. Liam gingerly lowers himself to Niall’s other side, not knowing whether he’s overstepping any boundaries but craving the closeness, nonetheless.

“I used to help him write songs, too, back before he got big,” Niall nods in reply. “I reckon yours are better, though.” Liam frowns, but Niall doesn’t look upset or anything. Just thoughtful. “I’m proud of that one you did use, though.”

Liam feels a sort of nostalgia flood through him, for the beginning of it all. When he still had Niall by his side, when they used to pour over lyrics together with Niall mumbling that he was shit at them and couldn’t he just do the guitar. He always managed to figure something out, though, as much as he complained.

“Kiss You,” he smiles. His words seem to catch Niall off guard, and he blonde glances over, cheeks flushing prettily.

“Yeah,” he grins, picking at a loose thread on his jeans, “that was a tune.”

“Still is a tune!” Louis interjects, somehow sprawling the entirety of his body across the couch he’s on. “You’ll see tonight. Crowd goes wild for it.”

Niall lets out a quiet laugh, glances at Louis.

“Crowd goes wild ‘cause it’s Liam Payne.”

And the words could have been bitter, but they aren’t. Just a bit sad, in a way all of them can feel. And Liam, especially, takes them like a blow to the gut even if Niall didn’t mean it that way.

“It’s the music, too, Niall,” he reminds him softly. And the corners of Niall’s mouth twitch down like he realizes what he just implied, that Liam’s face sells the albums and breaks the records and not his voice, not his work.

“No, I didn’t mean –” he begins, but Liam gives him a reassuring smile and reaches to squeeze his shoulder.

“I know, mate. Don’t worry.”

“I meant it well,” Niall mumbles, and he won’t meet Liam’s eyes. On his other side, Harry shifts to give his leg a nudge, and Niall glances over to him. They exchange a glance. Liam shifts uncomfortably, turns to look at Louis because he doesn’t want to intrude on the moment. But then Niall perks himself back up, straightens his back, turns to Liam again with a smile.

 “I can’t wait to see what the show’s like. Must be mental. Do you know if you’ve broken any decibel records?”

-

They bid Liam goodbye, and another security guard leads them back along the corridor. Niall can hear the roar of the crowd as soon as they leave the dressing room. It’s a steady rumble, growing louder. He can hear sound booming over the speakers, and the screams coming in waves. The energy buzzes like a tangible thing, the air thick with excitement that coarses through his chest and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He’s been to loads of concerts, and he should be used to the feeling, but somehow the atmosphere is especially heightened tonight. They step into the arena, and it all hits him full force.

It’s packed. Liam hasn’t even stepped on stage and the sound is deafening. Niall’s breath leaves him, for a moment, as he takes it all in.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. He hears Harry utter something similar beside him. The security guard leads them to their place behind the gate. Niall lets his eyes wander around the room, flickering over signs he can barely read and groups of girls dressed in t-shirts with Liam’s face on them and he knew it was wild but he never really imagined _this_ , entire arenas full of screaming fans, expressing their relentless love for the boy he let go.

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on that, though, because Liam’s intro starts and the crowd gets impossibly louder, and Niall watches as they rise to their feet because they know what’s coming. They know _who’s_ coming. He turns to Harry in disbelief and finds his friends’ eyes wide, half grin caught on his lips.

“This is fucking crazy,” Harry leans in to tell him, has to yell it in his ear to be heard over the crowd. Niall just shakes his head and mouths back, “I know.”

And then the music starts and Liam emerges and Niall starts to think his hearing won’t ever be the same.

 

He’s in awe for most of the show. He spends as much time looking at Liam as he does looking around at the crowd. When his eyes are on the stage, though, he finds the man the boy became. Liam exudes a confidence Niall never really witnessed in him before. He used to be quieter, more serious, but now he commands the entire room, fills the stage, and he looks happy. The first time his eyes find Niall, Niall gives him a grin and a thumbs up, but as the excitement in the room fills him he starts to let go of his reservations, forces Harry to dance, screams like any one of those girls when Liam waves at them. Harry takes it all in stride, like he does most things, and Niall loves him for it.

By the final song, exuberance has fought off any of Niall’s earlier stress. Liam steps off stage and the lights go dark, and Niall slings an arm around Harry’s shoulders and chants with the rest of them for the encore, using his friends’ height as leverage to jump up with each pump of his fist. He knows he’s going to owe Harry a lot for this, will probably be hearing about it for a while, but he doesn’t care. That’s his best friend on that stage. Living his dream.

He knows Kiss You is coming. It still takes him off guard when he hears the opening, blasting through the speakers, filling the room. He heard it with the crappy electric piano sound effects they used when they first made it, with his second-hand acoustic guitar. Heard it on the album, on the radio. But he never heard it live, with thousands of people screaming along. And it was just a stupid little fun song, but it was Niall’s, and witnessing it like this brings tears to his eyes. He clutches onto Harry’s sleeve, tries not to start blubbering, stares out into the arena. Everybody is jumping along. Everybody looks happy. _His_ song is doing this. _His_ song means something to all of these people. And they _like_ it.

He still can’t believe they left the chinny chin chin line in.

Harry notices how emotional he’s gotten and laughs, gives him an awkward side hug and starts shouting along, and Niall can’t help but laugh with him, wipes at his eyes and does his best to breathe in the feeling. Liam even does the stupid dance they made up for the bridge, still. It makes Niall miss what they used to have more than ever.

And then Kiss You is over and Liam starts into Something Great. And his eyes aren’t on Niall the whole time, but they’re on him most of the time, and Niall can only stare back and wish he was brave enough to throw all of his cautions to the wind and take a chance on something that used to be everything.

 

Liam’s swept off in a car right when the show ends, so Niall and Harry find themselves back under Basil’s care, creeping out of the venue past hoards of fans gathered by the stadium exit. Niall shrinks away from the window when they start screaming, but it all passes quickly, and soon they’re speeding off down the highway in the dark of the night and he finally has a moment to breathe.

He isn’t even sure what to say. He half wants to gush about the show, but he feels strangely exhausted. When he gives Harry a weak smile, Harry returns it with a small, soft one, and he takes Niall’s hand and strokes his thumb slowly along the bones, around the knob of his wrist. Niall closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tries to focus on the feeling. His ears are still ringing with the volume of the crowd, his throat raw from singing songs he never realized he knew. His heart feels heavy in his chest.

“They loved it,” Harry says softly, once Niall’s started to feel more settled in his skin. He peeks an eye open at Harry, frowning a little.

“Loved what?”

Harry laughs a little, shaking his head. When he speaks again, there’s a hint of proud disbelief in his voice.

“Kiss You. You wrote that?”

Niall feels the heat rise in his cheeks, shrugs a little.

“Yeah, mostly the music for it. Helped Liam with a few of the lyrics, but he was always better at those. I still can’t believe they used it.”

He still remembers going through the process of selling it, this silly tune written for and about Liam. When the other boy finally got plucked off YouTube and signed to a proper label. It had been an exciting time, knowing he’d get paid for something he’d done, knowing Liam would be the one giving it to the rest of the world. Before Liam had really started in on the album. Before he’d started working with names Niall could attribute to half the songs on the Billboard Top 40, before he’d started in on the travelling and the promo. Before they’d realized how different Liam’s life had become in such a short amount of time, and realized that the best thing to do for their relationship might be to end it. And then all Niall’d had left was this polished up version of his song on the radio and his old acoustic guitar and an empty bedroom.

“I can,” Harry tells him. “Believe it. It was really good, Niall.”

Niall knows Harry’s not just saying it to be nice, because he’s seen Harry say things just to be nice a thousand times and it’s clear this isn’t one of them. Niall laughs quietly, curls his fingers between Harry’s.

“I’m glad you came with me. I wouldn’t have done it, otherwise.”

Harry nods, smiles, gives his hand a squeeze.

“S’what friends are for, yeah?”

Niall grins at him, squeezes his hand back.

“Yeah.”

 

They get ushered straight up to Liam’s room when they reach the hotel. As soon as they step in, Liam’s vaulting himself up off the couch and running to hug Niall. He smells like some sort of manly shampoo, and his hair’s a bit damp. His enthusiasm takes Niall off guard, but he laughs and squeezes him back.

“Can’t breathe, mate,” he gasps out. Liam just hugs him tighter, but he does eventually release him, pulling back and grinning wide.

“What’d you think? I saw you jumping around, I was worried you might not know many of the songs.”

Niall scoffs, straightening out his shirt.

“Still buy your albums, don’t I? Have to make sure they don’t flop.”

Liam laughs, claps a hand around the back of Niall’s neck and pulls him along into the room. It’s bigger than any place Niall’s ever stayed, with a couch and a TV and little kitchenette and everything.

“I can’t believe it. That was such a rush. I dunno why we didn’t do that sooner.”

Niall shakes his head, glances back to make sure Harry’s still coming along.

“We’re idiots, clearly.”

Liam looks back, too, seems to realize he forgot to greet Harry. He lets go of Niall and steps to hug the other boy, patting his back heartily.

“Thanks for coming with Niall! I hope you liked it, I know those arenas get a bit crazy.”

“Yeah, it was great,” Harry assures him, “Niall got me acquainted with the setlist before we came, it’s all we listened to all week.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Niall groans, but Liam looks even more delighted to hear that, so he doesn’t bother berating his friend any further. Instead, he lowers himself onto one of the couches and stretches his arms over the back. Liam come to sit easily beside him, while Harry takes the other one, looking around the room.

“The band’s heading over once they’ve showered, and Louis is on his way,” Liam explains, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV. “Usually we drink a few beer and play FIFA, maybe do some writing and whatnot if we feel up to it. There’s a guitar in the room, if you want it. It’s weird seeing you without one for so long.”

Niall chuckles, stretching out more and crossing his ankle over his knee.

“Might fiddle around with it later, yeah. Wasn’t sure about bringing mine on the trip.”

From the other couch, Harry chuckles.

“Still brings that thing almost everywhere, you know,” he tells Liam. Liam grins.

“Good! I’m glad that hasn’t changed.”

He turns back to Niall with his crinkly-eyed smile, and Niall doesn’t miss the way his tone goes softer, the way his eyes linger a moment too long. It makes something stir in his gut and he lowers his gaze, licking his lips and shrugging in an attempt to play it off.

“Pretty set in my ways I guess.” The air in the room feels tense, suddenly. Loaded, heavy. And then the door swings open and Louis tumbles in, followed by the rest of the boys. Their jovial greetings cut through the uncertain atmosphere, and once they’ve made their introductions and settled into FIFA Niall finds that he fits in easily here – in fact, aside from the security guy outside the door and the fans in the street, it isn’t much different from any Saturday evening back at uni. By the end of the night, the band’s making plans to meet up with them in London once the tour’s over and have Niall show them a “good, Irish time”.

He sees them off in much better spirits than they found him. Even Louis feels immediately familiar, and that puts Niall at ease. As everyone slowly filters from the room, Niall urges Harry to go off ahead of him, gives him a quick hug at the door and shoves him down the hall when he tries to pinch Niall’s bum.

Liam turns the TV off when he sees Niall returning alone. Niall sinks down beside him. He knows it’s late – late enough that he’s too tired to check his phone and see what time it actually is. But he doesn’t feel ready to leave just yet. There’s too much swarming around his head, too many feelings crawling up the inside of his ribcage.

Liam sets down the beer he’s been nursing and turns to face Niall, tucks a leg up onto the couch. The crinkly-eyed smile is gone, as is the jovial demeanor. Now, Niall can see Liam for the person he is underneath it all; for the person he is when the lights go out, and the cheers fade away into silence. He looks achingly familiar. He looks tired. He looks soft. He looks so much younger. He looks like Niall’s Liam, and Niall can’t help but be relieved to know that, no matter what happens, he’ll always be that.

“I’m so glad you came,” he murmurs, and Niall watches his carefully structured confidence fold away piece by piece, like armor being peeled off.

“Me, too,” he replies, quietly. And they’ve both always been such shit at finding the words, honestly. The first time Liam kissed Niall was out of nowhere with Niall’s guitar set between them, an act of courage months – maybe even years – in the making. But they don’t have that luxury, now, waiting for somebody to get brave enough to say all the things they’re both thinking.

“I miss you,” Niall adds, because he’s tired of lying to himself and everyone else and pretending that the separation doesn’t affect him anymore. That giving up the love of your life so they can go off and live their dream isn’t one of the hardest damn things you can ever do to yourself. Liam looks up at him, eyes as warm as ever, and Niall doesn’t love him any less than he ever did before.

“I miss you every day. I can’t stand it. I can’t sit here and tell you I’m fine, that’s what I was gonna do but I can’t, I-”

“Niall,” Liam cuts him off gently, and he half reaches for him. But he hesitates at the last moment, because it was Niall who decided they’d be better off apart and Niall who has to put them back together.

Niall has to clench his hand to keep from biting at his nails, the way the nerves are eating away at his stomach. The way he doesn’t want to be upset, but he can feel a small lump in his throat and a prickle in his eyes.

“I miss you, too,” Liam tells him, and waits until Niall looks at him properly before adding, “just for the record. I miss you too.”

Niall nods, swallows hard. Blurts his next words before he can talk himself out of it.

“I think I made a mistake. I think I was so scared of losing you that I just… I had to do it myself. And I don’t honestly know, like, with your schedule and me at school and the way everyone knows your name. I don’t know how it’d work. It’s still terrifying. But when you took the stage, it all… made sense. You were happy. I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Liam tells him quietly, and it isn’t what Niall expected exactly but it gives him a sense of relief, to know that Liam isn’t just a manufactured cog in a machine like the press likes to say. He shifts a little, to get comfy. “I love it. I love this. It’s more than I could have ever imagined, it’s – it’s unbelievable, Niall. I wish you could’ve been there, my first show in America. I wish you could’ve been there when we got off the plane in Tokyo and there were people waiting for me at the airport. I wish you could’ve been there when I got my first number one, my first Brit, I wish you could’ve been with me when I played at the O2 – you would’ve crapped yourself, honest. I walked around the arena and I could just hear you telling me all those facts about it, when we used to talk about what it’d be like to play there. All about how you and your dad used to come before you moved to England.”

Liam’s voice breaks, then, and Niall instinctively moves closer, finally gives in and reaches for him. Liam laughs a little, leans to hug him tight. Pulls Niall’s head right against his shoulder and tucks his face into his hair, curls his fingers through it too, and Niall buries his nose against his shirt and squeezes him so tight he’s surprised Liam can still breathe.

“Every song I write’s about you,” Liam murmurs, “every song I sing’s for you. You’re in everything that I do. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Niall squeezes his eyes tight shut, wills himself not to cry. He can’t remember the last time he bore himself open to anyone like this, even Harry. It takes everything in him to let those walls fall down, to not pull them back up and salvage the last traces of safety he still has left. He can’t go on living his life in that box. It hasn’t made him happy.

“If you want to try,” Liam whispers, “if you wanted to try again…”

Niall gulps quietly. He feels cold with the fear of everything that could go wrong, but he nods his head yes. Because he’s already half lived it, hasn’t he? Following the media and their crazy stories, watching other people profess their love for the person who has his heart. The trust is already there; it never went away. And trust would be the most important thing, he thinks.

“I’ve still got promo for the album, once the tour’s over, but I’ll be home for Christmas this year,” Liam shifts to hug him tighter, hand sliding up his back, catching in the fabric of his shirt. “And then I’ll be in London, working on the album. And we can see, right?”

Niall nods again, tucks his face closer to Liam’s neck.

“We can see,” he agrees softly.

Liam’s quiet, for a moment. Niall lets his fingers wander up, traces the tips through the short hair at the back of Liam’s head. Feels the way Liam seems to melt with the touch. Eventually lets his hand wander to his cheek, prickly with stubble. He lifts his head and turns to kiss his jaw, thumb pressing into the slight dip beneath the bone. Liam relaxes more, looks down at Niall when he pulls back. Laughs, and sounds oddly nervous, just like when they were young and naïve and didn’t know what they were even doing, or how to act around each other. Niall supposes it’s just like that, now.  He knows it’ll all take time. He knows it won’t be easy.

“I should probably head back to my room,” he drops his hand carefully, gives Liam a sheepish smile. Liam nods, stroking his hair gently before pulling back.

“I’ll walk you to the door.”

-

Liam waits patiently while he ties up his shoes and pulls on his jacket and double checks he has his phone. They hesitate for a moment at the door, Niall’s hand on the knob, tongue flicking over his lips. Liam knows that fourteen months is a long time to be apart, a long enough time that they’re could be whole new people, now. That they’ll probably have to learn each other all over again. But Niall is so much still _Niall_ , and there were so many things they shared that it doesn’t feel strange, to curl his hand around his hip and lean in to kiss him. It’s just like how they always used to, a thousand times before. And his lips are still soft and a little bit chapped, and he still makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat when Liam presses closer. And he still leans into Liam, a warm weight that fits beneath Liam’s hands and against his chest, even if he’s taller than Liam remembers. And he still lets his mouth linger against Liam’s, presses another kiss to his lips before pulling back. A promise for more, it seems like.

“I’ll come see you off in the morning,” Liam tells him.

“I hope so,” Niall replies.

And then he slips off down the hall. And Liam turns back to his empty hotel room and he doesn’t feel so lost, any more.

 

-

 

-

 

Christmas comes with a flurry of activity and incessant rain and last-minute shopping trips. Liam’s mum’s barely stopped fussing with him since he got back, going on about his new haircut and how much he’s grown and blubbering any time she talks to one of their relatives on the phone about him. Even his dad hovers, as subtly as he can. They’ve planned some sort of feast to celebrate his being home, invited everyone in the town the way they talk about it. They’ve gone so crazy that he tells Niall they might as well wait until after Christmas to meet up, so his mum has some time to calm down. Niall laughs over the phone, says he’s been wrangled into countless Christmas plans anyway and agrees it’s probably for the best.

His mum spends three days cooking Christmas dinner. Their kitchen is stuffed with everything she’s prepared and nothing they can actually eat, so by the time the twenty-fifth rolls around all he can think about is how much turkey he’s going to have.

People start coming over mid-day on Christmas, bringing gifts, hugging him, telling him how proud they are. He takes it all in stride, accepts their compliments. He can’t help but be overwhelmed by it, by actually being able to be home and be a part of it all this year. It feels so terribly normal, something he never realized he could miss so much. They all manage to squeeze around the table, somehow, with steaming plates of brussel sprouts and parsnips and pigs in blanket and turkey piled on the table. Liam wants to cry at the familiarity of it all, to be surrounded by family, sharing ridiculous stories. It’s like his batteries were depleted and this is exactly what he needed to recharge them.

They collect in the family room after, sip hot chocolate mixed with rum. It starts to snow outside. The lights twinkle on the Christmas tree. Liam sinks back against the chesterfield, lets himself fade into the background of their conversation so that he can watch them, love them, appreciate them. He barely notices when the doorbell rings and his dad gets up to answer it – only realizes anyone else has joined them when Niall’s standing there in an ugly Christmas sweater and snow-dusted toque.

He greets everyone, cheeks and nose flushed red, eyes bright blue, grin easy on his face. Liam could swear that his family loves Niall even more than him, the way they look at him. Niall chats for a bit, but politely declines their invitation that he join them.

“I actually wanted to borrow Liam for a bit, if you don’t mind,” he glances off to where Liam’s nursing his hot chocolate. “Won’t be long, Karen, I promise I’ll have him right back.”

Liam’s mum laughs at Niall’s cheeky grin, waving him off.

“Oh, take him, he’s only been getting in my way all day! Asking for food all the time.”

Liam frowns at her as he pulls himself up.

“Well I’m a growing boy still!”

Karen shakes her head and gives his aunt a knowing look as Niall laughs. Liam groans at them, steps over to Niall. Niall waves to his mum and starts back down the stairs to the front hall. Liam follows after him, to the bottom of the stairs where the shoes are all piled and the closet’s bulging with coats. He’s surprised to see Niall’s guitar leaning against the wall. Niall tugs his gloves off and shuffles over, carefully unzips the case.

“What’s this for?” Liam asks, shivering a little now that they’re away from the fire’s reach.

“Well,” Niall explains, taking the guitar out. He goes to run a hand through his hair, then realizes the toque is still there and quickly tugs it off, dropping it next to his gloves, “I was going to wait to give you your present, but I was starting to psych myself out so I decided to just get it over with.”

Liam raises his eyebrows.

“Thanks?”

Niall blinks at him, then laughs.

“Not like that. Just sit, will you?”

He slings the strap of the guitar over his shoulders and adjusts it against his chest, positions his hands, checks that it’s tuned even though Liam’s sure he must have done all this before he left his house.

“I figured since you wrote me a song, I should write one for you. I got Harry to help with the lyrics so they weren’t as shit. Also, I haven’t sung much for awhile, so don’t laugh if I hit a note funny.”

Liam chuckles, taking a seat on the bench.

“I’m a bit disappointed you’re not serenading me outside my bedroom window.”

Niall scoffs, straightening up defiantly.

“It’s fucking freezing, I’m nervous enough without having my fingers numb.”

He starts playing before Liam can say much more. His fingers fumble a little at first, but he takes a breath and they fall into rhythm.

“It’s kind of cheesy,” Niall warns him quietly, and then he starts singing.

His voice is soft, smooth and soothing. Liam can hear the gentle lilt in his tone. He closes his eyes as he sings, and Liam’s sure he doesn’t realize how expressive his face gets when he does that. It reminds Liam of when they used to sit on Niall’s bedroom floor and fuck around with music for hours, the way Niall could pick up most songs by ear, the way he was always less confident in his voice than his guitar. He’s surprised by the intricacy of the melody, the way each note he sings is purposeful and deliberate; _you know I can’t fight the feeling, and every night I feel it – I wish you were here with me._ When Niall finishes, finally opens his eyes, Liam can only look up at him. He’s speechless. The realization that it was for him, about him, hits him slowly.

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally admits. Niall rocks on the balls of his feet, hands still resting on the guitar.

“Is that good or bad?” he asks.

Liam shakes his head a little, lets out a laugh that’s a bit too rough with emotion.

“Good,” he assures him, “it’s really good.”

Niall looks relieved, tugs off his guitar and leans it carefully against the wall. Liam can only watch him. If he didn’t know it before, he knows now that he could never be so in love with anyone else. And he knows that they’ll find a way to make it work. He reaches for Niall and Niall complies, sitting close and leaning into his arms. And he kisses Liam before Liam can say anything else, warm and easy. Liam can feel the way he’s smiling, and the corners of his own lips quirk up, until they’re both laughing, soft and quiet against each other’s mouths.

“Merry Christmas,” Liam mumbles. Happiness rises like a lump in his throat when Niall whispers it back against his cheek. And Liam knows – Niall will be there for the next number one. He’ll be there for the next awards show, the next first show of the next tour. If Liam has his way, Niall will be there for the last of it all, too. Niall will be there long after the lights go out, long after the cheers fade away into silence.

 

-

 

-

 

_Fin._


End file.
